


The Savior of the Hunter

by holyhael



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angel Dean Winchester, Hunter Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyhael/pseuds/holyhael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Castiel is the Righteous Man and Dean is an angel.</p><p>-</p><p>“Why did you raise me from perdition?”</p><p>“Your perky nipples.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Savior of the Hunter

Castiel couldn’t tear his eyes away from where the demons’ had been. Now, there was nothing but gouging sockets and blood, so much blood. He felt even more pity for the humans that had been inside than he normally would; they had to brave the demonic taint as well as the angel’s burning purity. Castiel only hoped they rested properly in the Fields of the Lord, where they belonged. They did not deserve such an untimely fate.

“We should call the police,” Father Samandriel said, hysteria beginning to creep into his soothing voice. “Those students! I know them!”

“Hush, father,” Castiel urged.

Father Samandriel's voice was barely more than a croak. "Adam."

“I’m afraid the po po aren’t swinging by here,” a confident voice sounded from across the lawn. Castiel looked up, feeling a tickling sense of familiarity at the sight of the man striding confidently across the frosted grass, although there was something different about him. His bowed legs had a more pronounced stagger to them, his smile was cockier, perhaps even whiter. And as he drew even closer, Castiel knew that while his eyes had been extraordinarily green before when they met at the convenience store, nothing could compare to the vibrance they shone with now.

"Jensen."

Father Samandriel looked from Castiel to Jensen. “Do you know this man?”

The man didn’t pay the father much mind; his complete attention was on Castiel, and Castiel found it as unnerving as he did pleasing.

“Long time, no see, huh, Cas?” The man - Castiel refused to believe this was Jensen anymore; his blood was congealing in his veins as he imagined the helpful man succumbing to the corrupt shroud of a demon - walked closer, and Castiel pushed Father Samandriel behind him. The demon didn’t seem to be bothered by the house of worship or the bodies he stepped over, only advancing closer and closer. “Although, I guess I looked a bit different from last we met.”

“Alastair.”

The demon shook his head and seemed confused for a moment. “No, dumbass. I’m the one who snatched your fine ass out of the Pit. This is the thanks I get?”

Father Samandriel stumbled.

Incredulous, Castiel asked, “You’re the angel?”

“Sure am,” he beamed. “Looks like I did a good job patching you up. It was hard work, let me tell you. It doesn’t look like it, but human bodies are so much more complex than they look.” Castiel was motionless as the angel stepped closer and closer, invading any space of his that normal humans preferred not to breech. He took Castiel’s chin in his hand - a warm hand, but the callouses from before had vanished - and tilted Castiel’s face this way and that, though his eyes scarcely left Castiel’s. Castiel felt as though he could drown in the emerald of the angel’s eyes. “Everything good as new in there?”

“Yes,” Castiel growled. He wanted to jump out of the angel’s grasp just as much as he did not. This angel was nothing like he’d thought they were, and for some reason, despite his brashness, it was warming Castiel to the angel more. He was acting human… more or less. Castiel had an insistent urge to please this angel, do whatever it was asked of him.

“Good. That’s my first time putting one of you together. Glad to do it right. I mean, you’re practically perfect.” Finally, the angel let go of Castiel’s chin. His eyes flickered briefly over his shoulder to at last give Father Samandriel notice. “If you don’t mind, Father, I’d like a moment of privacy with this young man.”

“Oh, of course!” Father Samandriel was still blustered. Castiel wondered if he should insist on the minister staying, but before he’d given the idea much thought, Father Samandriel was hastening away, leaving Castiel alone with the angel at the foyer of the church.

Breath was hard to come by in the angel’s presence. Still, Castiel had to force out, “Why did you do it?”

“Make him leave? We need to talk. Alone. This isn’t the light, fluffy stuff the civilians feed themselves every night to sleep.”

“No,” Castiel said. “Why did you raise me from perdition?”

“Your perky nipples.”

Castiel glared at him until he realized that the creature in front of him was an angel. Shame colored his cheeks, but the angel mistook it for a response to his teasing answer. A large smile split his lips to show those white teeth. “Nah, I’m kidding, dude. No need to get all innocent, blushing virgin on me.”

“I thought you said you were an angel,” Castiel said. He still could not believe that this cocksure being was of heavenly origin.

“Angels don’t run around in tarps, tiaras, and fluffy wings, okay? Mainstream is bullshit. This is the real deal.”

The angel stepped back then, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Lightning crackled in the storm clouds and the boom of thunder arrived only a heartbeat later, but between the two Castiel’s eyes widened as he took in the shadows protruding from the angel’s back. Dark wings, as strong as they were fragile, stretched beyond Castiel’s sight and made his knees weak. As the last echoes of thunder rolled away, the shadows collapsed as if they had never been there at all. Castiel could only gape. The angel leered.

“Impressive, huh?” He winked. “A lot better than those Valentine’s Day cherubs, huh?”

Castiel could only nod. Whenever he closed his eyes, even to blink, he saw those wings again, seared into his retinas like the sun. “What is your name?”

“Dean.”

“There are no angels named Dean,” Castiel said. He knew enough theology to know this to be true.

Dean shrugged. “I’m one of the grunts. Not much in any textbook about me. I’m like the tin dog of angels.”

“The what?”

“It’s… never mind. We’ve got more important business to talk about.” Now, Dean dropped the jocular expression, his features becoming more serious. “The apocalypse.”

“The apocalypse?”

“You know, raining fire and gas prices a mile high?”

“I’m aware,” Castiel retorted. “What of it?”

Dean licked his lips as he hesitated, and Castiel found himself drawn to the sight of his pink tongue sliding over those plush lips. He snapped himself back to attention when Dean began to speak again. “It’s the reason we laid siege to Hell. See, we needed to stop the beginning of the End of Days to stop Lucifer bursting out of his prison cell. And to do that we needed to get your perky nipples out.”

It took several moments for that to process successfully and for Castiel’s articulate question to bubble up his throat. “Why?”

Dean waved his hand. “Something about Righteous Men breaking seals. I’m not really sure; just a grunt, remember? With my pay grade, they don’t tell me much beyond that. All I know is we’ve got an Apocalypse to interrupt, and soon.”

He thought about it for a moment. “And will I be atoned if we succeed?”

“Atoned?” Dean narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to Castiel again. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved?”

Castiel was afraid of responding the affirmative, so he stood still, barely daring to breathe, under Dean’s scrutiny. His guilt seethed beneath his skin.

“You didn’t belong in Hell, Cas,” Dean declared with frightening faith. “Yeah, you sold your soul to some crossroad demon, but that wasn’t supposed to happen. You don’t have to ‘atone’ or whatever; leave that to the mass murderers and slimy politicians, okay?”

Castiel didn’t agree with Dean, but he still didn’t speak up. The angel didn’t know him; he’d only taken him out of Hell. He hadn’t been there when Castiel’s carelessness allowed that wendigo to rip out the heart of his sister or that demon burn his mother alive. Dean hadn’t been there to witness every hunt gone wrong, every precious life ending that got caught in the crosshairs someway. He wasn’t there when Castiel finally took the knife from Alastair’s claws. It was all blood on Castiel’s hands. He needed penance. Hell had been his punishment, although it was insufficient and it only served to make his sins greater in the end. And now he was back on Earth by the will of this angel, his absolution even further away, and Dean was telling him he didn’t need any of it.

“You’re a good man, Cas. Hell, you’re better than half of my garrison, and that’s saying a lot.” Dean leaned in closer, as if a closer proximity could convince Castiel of what he was trying to say. “That soul you’ve got there?” He poked Castiel’s chest. “That’s almost brighter than the sun. Almost burned my eyes out it was so intense. None of that demonic crap could touch that thing, even after forty years in the Pit.”

He didn’t believe a word Dean said. Angel or not, Castiel’s expectations of Warriors of God have so far been misguided, so it was no stretch to think Dean was lying.

“You know what? Fine. You’ll be ‘atoned’.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Now, we’ve got to get down to business. We need that sister of yours, too.”

“Wait.” He withdrew from the fingers Dean raised to his forehead. “What about them?” he asked, gesturing to the bodies lying at their feet. Flies circled above them like miniature vultures. “Can’t you revive them as well?”

Dean had the decency to look remorseful. “No can do.”

“But you did so for me,” Castiel reminded the angel, “And I was dead for much longer.”

“You’re special,” said Dean, eyes sincere. Castiel  _was_  going to drown in them. “We don’t go raising the dead left and right. What’s dead should stay dead.”

“Then why can’t I stay dead?”

Dean’s lips thinned, pulled tight. He breathed shakily through his nose. “Don’t you dare say shit like that. You hear me?”

The answer was unsatisfying, but Castiel knew not to anger an angel. Already he’s nearly crossed the line. He scowled, but he changed the subject anyway. The relief shook every fibre of Dean’s being. ”Are their souls in Heaven, at least?”

“Should be. Can we go now?”

“Where are we going?”

“Your sister Anna’s,” Dean replied.

“And what am I supposed to tell her? That I’ve been resurrected by an angel to prevent the Apocalypse from coming to pass? She has a mental illness. I don’t want to impede her recovery.”

“You could always say you faked it to eloped with me in Vegas.” The angel raised a cocky eyebrow, at which Castiel rolled his eyes.

“I’m sure that won’t send her into hysterics, either.”

Dean shrugged. “She’ll understand when she sees how blatantly in love we are and how profound our bond is. Ready to get this show on the road?”

With a short sigh, Castiel gave in. “I suppose.”

“Alright then.”

Suddenly, Dean surged forward and pressed his lips to Castiel’s. Shock made Castiel unresponsive; he could only blink dumbly and stare at the thin membrane of Dean’s eyelids and the long lashes that rested beneath them. All too soon, Dean withdrew, and Castiel wished he hadn’t been so stupid standing there like a dumbstruck goldfish. His body grew warm.

Dean grinned. “Alright. Let’s go.”

His fingers brushed Castiel’s forehead, and the ground fell out from beneath their feet.


End file.
